Women who are constantly talked about and discussed from various points of view are rarely influential; all they really care for is to exhibit their various qualities. A woman who is serious, dignified, and calm, of whom nobody says or knows anything, can have much more influence and be more imposing.
And then a man who is naturally cold and reserved, even though he may not be a social success, will always be well received and perfectly on a level with the best company that he meets, for it is only the extremely agreeable or the very ridiculous who attract much attention.
I repeat, then, that it was without any embarrassment, but with a great deal of rather ill-natured curiosity, that I presented myself at the Hôtel de Pënâfiel one Wednesday, after the opera.
The house was kept up in a really princely way. In the vestibule, which was lofty and decorated with statues and immense marble vases filled with flowers, were several footmen, who wore powder and liveries of blue and orange, braided with silver.
In a vast antechamber, where there were some fine paintings and magnificent Faïence vases also filled with flowers, was another footman, whose livery was orange colour with a blue collar, and braided on all the seams with silk passementerie, and embroidered with the crest of De Pënâfiel. Finally, in a third waiting-room, were two valets de chambre who, instead of being clothed in funereal black, wore suits of light blue plush, lined with orange-coloured silk and ornamented with crested gilt buttons.
When I was announced, there were with Madame de Pënâfiel five or six ladies and two or three men.
She was dressed in black on account of some court mourning or other, and had jet ornaments in her soft brown hair. I thought her dazzlingly beautiful and, though I may be mistaken, that she blushed beneath her rouge when she received me in her most formal and ceremonious manner. Perhaps it was the blush that made me think her so beautiful. After I had spoken a few polite words, the conversation which my arrival had interrupted was continued.
They were discussing the latest scandal, in which a woman's honour and two men's lives were at stake; the story was told in the most guarded language, but with so feeble an attempt at disguise, and such transparent withholding of details, that to have mentioned proper names outright would have been less significant.
As it almost always happens by one of those coincidences that luck brings about, just as every one was having his little word or sharp little witticism on the subject, the husband and wife who were being discussed were announced. This conjugal entrance astonished no one. It was explained by an unexpected return to Paris, which necessitated a first visit.
Though every one who was in the salon was quite used to such impromptus, there was for a second an embarrassing silence, but Madame de Pënâfiel, with the most natural and perfect ease, addressed me as though we were continuing an interrupted conversation: